“Who exactly are you, and why do you look exactly like this fellow?” the white-haired old man demanded.

I cast a look of utter disdain his way and stated coldly, “It’s none of your concern. You only need to know that I am here with the sole purpose of taking your life.”

“Oh? Hahahaha…” The white-haired old man burst into a wild, arrogant laugh. “Even if I let you have one arm, you might not win against me.”

I offered no further retort, merely fixing him with a cold stare.

The white-haired old man dropped his laughter, and silence fell between us.

After a moment, he spoke. “Very well. Since you are the junior, I will let you make the first move.”

My hatred for this man was not a matter of a day or two, especially considering what he had done to Liang Qian—it was unforgivable.

Yet, even though anger was surging within me, I couldn’t help but glance over at Da Xiong and Nie Chuan standing by the side.

Gritting my teeth, I addressed the white-haired old man. “Let’s change locations, lest we harm innocent bystanders.”

The old man seemed pleased, nodding once before turning and walking away from the inferno of the fire.

I glanced back at the two men again, saying softly, “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

Despite my assurance, I could see that their eyes were clouded with deep concern.

I said no more, lifting my chin as I walked toward the white-haired old man.

“Is this spot suitable?” The old man’s repulsive smile was plastered across his face.

I looked back; we were about fifty or sixty meters from Nie Chuan and the others, so I nodded, suddenly unsure what else there was to say.

But perhaps nothing needed to be said, as his very face was the greatest mockery.

So, holding nothing back, I coiled my fist and drove it straight toward his face.

I reasoned that the white-haired old man only knew I could make arrows curve; he probably didn’t realize I could use that same force to propel myself. Therefore, this first strike was not a full-on charge punch, but a standard attack.

The result was exactly as I anticipated: as my fist sped toward his features, he casually raised his left hand and caught it.

His strength was still alarmingly immense. My hand made sickening crunching sounds in his grip, threatening to be crushed completely.

Ignoring the searing pain, I channeled the psychic energy within me, instantly propelling myself forward.

Though the white-haired old man’s strength was vast, having used this technique repeatedly, I was confident this burst of explosive propulsion would surely surpass his power.

Indeed, under the sudden, violent force of my forward thrust, the old man couldn't maintain his footing and staggered back several paces.

Seeing a flicker of confusion cross his features, he asked while retreating, “Where did you learn that move!”

The white-haired old man gripped my hand tightly, his brute force quickly nullifying my momentum. He planted his feet—one forward, one back—and stared at me, demanding again, “Did you find that book! Hand it over! I can let you all go!”

I felt a fresh wave of agonizing pain shoot up my fist. In reality, I was in a brief period of weakness where using my abilities was difficult, making me easily susceptible to being finished off instantly.

This was a miscalculation on my part. I had expected that initial push to at least send him flying, but his strength was far greater than I had imagined. If he weren't trying to persuade me to hand over the ancient book right now, a simple twist of my arm would have easily resulted in a comminuted fracture.

I offered no reply. Instead, taking advantage of the few seconds he spent questioning me, I managed to restore my psychic energy and used the remaining impetus to spring backward.

I successfully wrenched my fist free from his grasp, landing four or five meters away, panting heavily.

The white-haired old man gave a sinister chuckle. “You cannot be my match. Even if you obtained the book, you won’t become formidable in such a short time. If you refuse to hand it over, don’t blame me for being impolite.”

With that, he curled his five fingers into a claw and lunged for my solar plexus.

That strike was blindingly fast and vicious; under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have been able to evade it. Now, with my psychic energy barely back to guard me, I resorted to the same trick, aiming my power at his supporting leg.

The white-haired old man suddenly seemed to step on an unseen snare; his footing hitched, but he let out a ferocious roar, launching himself directly off the ground to smash a punch at me.

I was practically speechless at his sheer ferocity. Seeing that pot-sized fist hurtling toward me, seemingly intent on shattering my skull, I scrambled into an awkward roll on the ground.

Just as I cleared the spot, the ground exploded with a loud thump, sending shattered stones flying as the old man’s blow struck the earth.

I knew his movements were incredibly quick; I had suffered because of that speed before. Once I rolled to the ground, he would inevitably follow up by kicking me in the stomach.

As expected, after completing my roll, I saw a leg swinging toward my midsection. By this time, my psychic energy had recovered, and I hurriedly used it to nullify the force of the incoming kick.

Even with the forces canceling each other out, I still couldn't fully block the white-haired old man. His foot connected solidly with my abdomen, instantly causing a wave of churning blood within me. It was safe to say that if I hadn't used my mental energy to deflect a portion of the blow, I might have spent six months in the hospital, or simply died.